


Drunk Enough

by Morgan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-04
Updated: 2010-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean had started buying them beers and they were halfway between amiably drunk and 'where the hell's the motel'."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Enough

Fast and messy. That was the mood Dean was in. It started like a regular 'let's go and hustle the locals' deal. But there were no locals in the mood to be hustled, the waitress was fifty is she was a day and the girls had skirts that were much to tight for legs that shape. Greasy trucker wannabe's populated the bar. Dean had started buying them beers and they were halfway between amiably drunk and 'where the hell's the motel'. Sam was laughing in his half-lit unrestrained way throwing his head back and showing glimmering white teeth. His eyes were still dancing with mirth when he looked back at Dean and Dean felt a heavy lurch in his stomach. It felt so good to make Sam laugh like that. Because, well… just because.

The two suicidal blondes at the bar were eying the brothers in an unequivocally predatory way. Blue eye shadow aside they were still pure trailer trash. Not that Dean normally gave a fuck where people came from. He hadn't had a permanent address for twenty years, so who the hell was he to judge? But putting the hustle out of his mind meant he just wanted to kick back and relax and make Sam laugh some more. Dean swept his gaze back to Sam and caught the expectant gleam in his eyes. No prowling about. He decided to just get Sam drunk and enjoy the evening.

-Biggest Freudian slip? Sam asked.   
-Oh, that must have been Valentine's day when I was with Cassie. I thought I'd better do the whole chocolate and flowers-thing to avoid getting my ass kicked…  
-You hopeless romantic.  
-Well, otherwise, you know... Lockdown. So I walk into this flower shop, mind on other things, like where the night would go, and, calm as you please, look at the gorgeous leggy creature behind the counter and ask if they have any clitoris.   
Sam roared with laughter. He pounded the table and tried to get his breath back.   
-I meant to say clematis, Dean finished when Sam was breathing more or less normal.

And Sam was lost again, giggling helplessly. Dean sat with his elbows casually propped on the table and Sam leaned forward and punched him in the arm almost knocking one of the empties over. Ok, so Sam was a little drunk already.

-D'you want some greasy bar food? Dean asked realising that three beers on an empty stomach was probably a bad idea.   
-Ooo … Fries. With catsup. Yes, that would be great, Sam nodded.   
Ok, so Sam was more than a little drunk.   
-I'll go get us some.   
-And peanuts. And chicken wings… ooo... ooo, with barbecue sauce.   
Dean laughed.   
-I'll see what I can do.

Dean strode off hearing Sam's "and more beer" behind his back and smiled to himself. Dean stood at the bar waiting to order and looking back at the table he caught sight of Sam shrugging out of his jacket and stretching like a lion. Sam looked loose and relaxed and good enough to eat. Dean shook his head. Three beers on an empty stomach was definitely not a good idea. It was good to see Sam unclench for a while, even if it took a few beers to get there. Dean placed an order for everything greasy on the menu and picked up some more beer and pretzels to bring back to the table.

-Hey man. They didn't have peanuts. They had pretzels, though.   
-'S cool. Pretzels are good too, Sam said, snagged a handful and chomped on them.   
-How drunk are you? Dean asked when he'd sat down again.   
Sam's eyes got a wicked glint and he looked around the bar. They'd played this game forever. It was one of those things Sam would deny when sober, but he was still a guy.   
-Not drunk enough for the piranhas at the bar, Sam said. 'You?'   
-Hell, no.   
But, Dean thought, drunk enough to think you're looking edible. Which is all kinds of fucked-up.   
-Food! Sam exclaimed delightedly when the tired waitress came over with a laden tray.   
She cleared the empties and put down the plates and gave the boys a weary smile before turning back to the bar. Sam attacked the fries, doused them heavily with catsup and ate with his fingers.   
-Ok. Question. Worst food? Dean asked.   
Sam swallowed his mouthful and wrinkled his brow.   
-When I was eight and tried to make mac'n'cheese by myself. Damn near burnt the house down and it was awful.   
-Yeah, I remember that smell. Worse than burning dog hair.

It was supposed to be a funny question and now Sam was scowling. Ok, so it was tricky because you could bring up the wrong bits of the past if you weren't careful. Leaving an eight year old in a trailer park was not good times. Two days they had been gone that time. Sam always seemed so capable it was easy to forget how scary it got being left alone like that.   
-Ok. So, best food, then? Dean asked.   
Sam took a sip of his beer and looked at Dean. He was a little drunk, but he was not stupid. He knew what Dean was doing. Slow smile.   
-Mac'n'cheese.   
-Why?  
-'Cause it's what you always made when you came back. You make a wicked Mac.   
-That I do.  
Dean raised his bottle and chinked it with Sam's.

About two hours later their table was looking like a battlefield. Empty bottles, dirty plates and pretzel salt everywhere because Sam had upended the basket. They had wolfed their food, drunk like pirates and laughed and laughed at absolutely nothing. Dean had bummed a cigarette from a guy in a trucker hat at the next table and was blowing smoke rings. Sam talked with his hands when he got drunk, gesturing wildly, lecturing Dean in the evils of smoking. Dean was beginning to get a little nervous because he was feeling too relaxed, which meant he was letting his guard down and that was never a good idea. Dean wasn't listening to Sam, just looking at the sweating, scowling madman pointing at him and spewing facts about how many years each drag on the cigarette was taking off his life.   
-Look, look, Sammy, I'll put it out, alright?   
He had already smoked most of it anyway and got that nice nicotine rush you only get if you don't smoke all the time. Sam grumbled.

-It's Sam, dammit!  
-Of course it is. You about ready to call it a night?   
-What, already?  
-Yeah, unless you're drunk enough to go piranha fishing.   
Sam looked around, but the bar was emptying.   
-Hey, where'd everyone go?  
-They've all gone home. It's late, Sam.   
-Oh. Okay.

Sam slowly unfolded from the chair, and grabbed his jacket. He made two tries to find the left sleeve but when Dean reached over to help him Sam shoved him off saying he could get it himself. Dean lead the way into the street and was glad it was walking distance, because he was in no state to drive and maybe the walk would sober them up some. Sam's shoulder bumped against his and Dean bumped back. Sam grabbed his jacket and jostled him a little throwing his balance. Dean stumbled, almost tripping over and Sam was laughing again. Typical brother stuff.   
-You're such a bitch.  
-Jerk, Sam replied and tackled Dean into an empty lot between two houses. Even drunk and fucked-up there was a smoothness to their play-fighting that could only come with years of practise. And you always had to watch out for Sam's legs, because his reach was astonishing to say the least. They ended up by the brick wall in the far end and Sam made a surprisingly fast move slamming Dean in the midriff and trapping him by the wall. Dean let out a grunt and Sam pinned him, hands on his shoulders.

They were laughing again and Sam lost his footing stumbling into Dean, trying to steady himself, they were fairly well tangled by now and Dean found himself enjoying that a little too much. Sam's shoulder to his chest, one hand on Dean's thigh and the other on the wall just below the small of Dean's back. Sam laughing too much to straighten himself up.   
-Okay, Sammy. Come on. Up we go, there's a good boy, Dean said and tried to extricate himself from the suddenly very heavy limbs of his brother.

Sam stopped laughing and took a few deep breaths. The hand on Dean's thigh made an attempt at moving. It felt like a caress and Dean was too close and too wound up in Sam to not feel a stirring.   
-Sam! Hands! Dean said sternly.   
-Yeah.   
Sam's voice a little distant. Okay, so Sam was drunk. He was drunk himself, for God's sake. When Sam moved again there was no doubt about it. It was a caress.   
-Hands… Sam said and his voice was low and rich.   
When he looked up Dean was startled by the look on his face. Sam's features set in a strange mix of anger, intent and desire. Sam's voice ricocheted in Dean's brain going straight to all the dark corners. Velvet smooth steel… Sam tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. There was a look of cunning and promise and he leaned into Dean, one hand moving up Dean's thigh and slipping under the jacket travelling up his side.   
-Drunk enough…Sam said.

It was a question and not a question at the same time. Dean was wearing his tactical jacket, carrying his gun concealed and Sam's fingers worked their way under that weight of the gun that rode so snug against Dean's ribs. This had happened once or twice before, Sam touching him like this, and it always surprised Dean how strong Sam was. How sure. There were no hesitations, no questions. Sam was rough and intense. It seemed Sam enjoyed the lack of a need to be careful. There were a thousand ways this was wrong, though, no matter how good Sam's palm against his heart felt.

Dean tried to get his hand between their bodies to push Sam off, but Sam just leaned in heavier and slowly inched himself up crushing Dean into the wall. Sam used his weight as leverage and he pressed impossibly closer. He swatted Dean's hand away, shifted his weight a little, aligning them and looming over Dean somehow even if they were braced level. Dean wanted to try and joke his way out of this, but there was blood and need between them and just feeling Sam like this, alive and warm, was so good.

-Hands, Sam said again and this time the word was strained.   
He was controlling Dean, trapping him, and Dean felt body heat radiating through cloth. Sam's breath on his neck. The strong legs, the muscled expanse of his chest. The more he let himself feel it, the more he started bartering with himself. Ok, so, this was wrong. On the other hand Sam had started it. Yes, but it's still wrong. On the other hand Sam wanted it too. Sam, who was currently running his hands all over him the way you caress a nervous horse.

-Okay, little brother. Enough with the touchy-feely. Time to go home.   
Sam just snorted and kept caressing in that slow, dragged-out rhythm. Dean knew he had lost out to this thing between them the second he felt how ragged his breathing was getting. Arousal too obvious to deny between them.   
-Home? Sam breathed the word on Dean's skin just below his ear.   
Cold shivers followed on that hot trail.

And, yeah, Dean had said home, because 'let's go back to the motel' was just not something he could say with Sam's hands on him like this without getting some very explicit pictures in his head. Not that he wasn't getting those already. Damn. That felt good. It shouldn't feel that good when it was so very, very wrong. It was more than just 'my husband is out of town'-wrong or 'come back to my place Mr talent scout'-wrong. This was full on 'burn in hell for your sins'-wrong. With sprinkles on top. Then Sam did that thing with his hips and Dean let his head drop back. Sam's hands working their way inside his T-shirt. Dean figured this was one of those things that were going to happen no matter what the rest of the world might think. So he took a breath and stopped thinking. He'd always been a hedonist anyway. He stopped trying to act like he hadn't noticed what was going on and reached out to Sam, putting his hands on Sam's ass and drawing him closer. Sam made eye contact. There was a lot going on there. Words unspoken, desires, need…a little anger. 'I wonder who was getting who drunk tonight' Dean thought suddenly acutely aware of his brother's calculating intelligence. Then Sam kissed him and he just didn't give a damn anymore.

 

End


End file.
